


Late

by 8bite_me3



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - Russian 21st c.
Genre: M/M, RPS - Freeform, Russia, dam, gps, putvedev, vvp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8bite_me3/pseuds/8bite_me3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dima reevaluates his relationship with his Prime Minister after some late night partying with Silvio Berlusconi. Takes place around early March 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late

The distant sound of a door opening and closing stirred Dmitry from his sleep. He blinked a few times as a hazy half-asleep/half-awake fog momentarily clouded his senses. Soft footsteps crossed the dark hotel room as Dima tried to get a grip of his surroundings.

He glanced up at the clock. 3:39 am stared back at him in an angry red hue. It was still very early in the morning, but for the gentleman who had just now entered the room it had been a very late night. Dima's heart sank at that very thought.

Vladimir had been out for an awfully long time with Berlusconi. Gauging from his quiet movements the bar scene couldn't have been very good. He wasn't stumbling around drunk. That's a good sign, right? He probably didn't have that great of a time. Vova was probably just being polite.

Another door on the other side of the room opened and closed. The sound of running water broke the silence. He was taking a shower. It was almost 4 am and here he is taking a shower.

A lump formed in the back of Dima's throat.

Or did he have a good time doing something else other than drinking? Something along the lines of enjoying Berlusconi's women?

Dima rolled onto his stomach and buried his head into the pillow. He wanted to cry. This is exactly what he does when he comes home from work. He washes off the scent of Putin. He washes away his sins, his shame, hoping that his wife won't find out.

Valdimir's been with women tonight.

Vladimir's fucked Berlusconi's women.

Feelings of complete and utter devastation begin to consume him.

Of course it's really unfair of Dima to condemn him for what he may (or may not) have done. It would be like holding him accountable to double standards. After all, what is he himself doing by sleeping with Vladimir? He's cheating on Svetlana, his wife. As is Putin; cheating on his own.

Cheating.

They say once a cheater always a cheater.

But…

This is different.

It has to be.

It certainly feels that way.

Doesn't it?

This is his Vova.

He's not making excuses for his own actions, is he?

The water shut off. 

The room is once again filled with silence. 

Well that was a quick shower. It was more of a rinse, really. A rinse to quickly wash away the evening's transgressions...

Images of Putin with faceless women in the heat of passion flash in front of his eyes. He briefly muses if they were any good, if they gave him head, if they got him to come. Were they better than him? Would he want him anymore?

Dima felt sick. His eyes begin to brim with tears.

He will not cry.

He will not cry.

He will not cry.

He repeated this mantra over and over again in his head, willing himself to calm down. How he wishes he could curl up in a ball and be swallowed by the Earth. It would be significantly less painful than living right now.

The mattress dipped slightly as a body slid under the covers.

How dare Vova seek a bed with him!

Dima's despair quickly turns to anger. He had his own room! Why couldn't he just go sleep there? The sheer audacity of what he was doing was just… Jesus Christ! What arrogance the man had! He just thinks he can walk all over people and do whatever the hell he wants, and get away with it.

His mind began to spin a mile a minute as he remembers just about everything Putin ever did to hurt him. Every single moment, from the day they first met back in Sobchak's office to dinner that evening, passed through his mind.

A warm hand slid across his shoulder blades.

"I know you're awake." Putin's lips brushed against the back of Dima's ear. There was a faint smell of alcohol on his breath.

He shrank away from Vladimir's touch.

"Oh, Dima. Come off it." He sighed in exasperation.

Dima buried his head under the pillow in response. It was childish, but he didn't care.

Putin stayed like that, with his hand on Dima's back, for a few moments waiting for his silly little tantrum to subside. But Dima remained in that position. So Putin slid his hand down Dima's back to see what kind of rise he could get out of him. But when it came to rest at his waist it was merely batted away. 

It became apparent to him that this wasn't going to be easy. There was only one way to deal with Dima when he got like this: force. So he wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in close. He held Dima there, flush against his body, with both arms tightly entangled with his. 

Dima did his best to pull away and resist, but Putin was strong. Much stronger than he. The more he resisted the tighter Putin held onto him. After a long struggle Dima gave up. No, he didn't give into Vova's warm embrace. No, he didn't give into the tingling sensations he felt wherever their skin made contact. He simply gave up in defeat. And yes, there is a difference. At least that's what Dima told himself.

Ah, sweet victory! Putin smirked as he felt Dima relax in his arms. He always wins. Not that winning isn't a given when it comes to anything Vladimir Putin. It was just something he does, something he's good. He can't help but not win, can he? It's not his fault that he's a perpetual winner. Surely he is not to be blamed for overcoming every challenge presented to him? But out of all challenges he's faced in his entire life, it is winning these little battles with Dima that pleases him the most.

Dima felt Vova nuzzle the back of his neck. His stomach filled with butterflies at the intimate contact. He was still mad, damn it! Curse his body for betraying him like that.

He decided to settle on frowning.


End file.
